Thousands of different books were suddenly projected into the mist space and spread out one by one in front of Su Ping.

Su Ping gathered his attention and started reading carefully.

One, two, three...

Whenever he finished reading a book, the corresponding projected image would disappear, and the mist hovering around the Sacred Heart Pen would become shallower and his talent stronger.

Time passes slowly.

Until Wen Daoyuan finished polishing the ink, Su Ping still didn't open his eyes.

Everyone suddenly felt that he was too rude and couldn't help but whisper.

"How long will he want to think about this?"

"If it doesn't work, forget it. If you can't write it, it's normal. It's not a shame."

"Is it possible to write poetry if you want to?"

"..."

The Ninth Prince spoke at the right time, showing his royal demeanor: "Poems are inherently obscure and profound. I think Su Ping will definitely produce a masterpiece. Please wait patiently."

"Your Highness is benevolent."

"Speaking of which, at the Lantern Festival Poetry Competition last year, His Highness's song "Ode to the Yang River" won the first place. I wonder when His Highness will be able to produce another masterpiece?"

"Even His Highness's poems have to be polished over and over again. Can Su Ping be able to compose a quick poem on the spot?"

"Don't be anxious, everyone. Since His Highness has spoken, it doesn't matter if we just wait for an hour."

"That makes sense."

"..."

"No need."

Amidst the noise, a clear voice sounded.

Su Ping slowly opened his eyes.

The light in his eyes flickered, as if there were stars hanging upside down.

"Excuse me for waiting."

Su Ping smiled casually, raised his head and drank most of the full pot of wine.

The next moment, the pen fell with surprise.
Chapter completed!